Into the Wilderness (102 page)

* * *

They
left the neat grounds of the Schuyler estate and walked through fields that
bordered the Hudson, thick with growing wheat and rye, corn and beans,
separated by rows of gnarled apple trees standing sentry.Behind it all, boats
moved along the Hudson so that their sails seemed to skim the sea of grain. The
sky was wider here without the mountains and in it the clouds skittered along
as if to keep up with the sailboats.

Albany
in
the late summer was almost as unpleasant a place as
London
,
Elizabeth
thought as they made their way along

Ferrington
Street

into the center of the city. They had come
on business that could not wait, and she would be happy to leave as soon as
they possibly could. The roads were crowded with housemaids swinging baskets on
red—chapped arms; peddlers hawking sticky peaches, sugar—sweet melons, wilted
kale; young women in watered silks with feathered parasols tilted against the
sun; river Indians dressed in fringed buckskin and top hats; slaves hauling
bales of rags and herding goats. It was not so dirty and crowded as New—
York
had been, that was
true. There was a pleasing tidiness to the brick houses with their steeply
tiled roofs and bright curtains, but still the humid air reeked of sewage,
burning refuse, pig slurry, and horse dung.
Elizabeth
swallowed hard and put her
handkerchief to her nose and mouth, wondering to herself that she had forgotten
what cities were like in such a short time. Three months in the wilderness had
changed her, stolen her patience for the realities of a crowded life.

To
her further surprise, Nathaniel seemed at ease. Men leaned over half doors to
call out a welcome, dropped their tools to come into the street and talk to
him, wiping dirty hands on leather aprons. Nathaniel touched the small of her back
as he introduced her. "My bride," he said so many times she lost
count. "My bride, Elizabeth." It caused her both a great deal of
pleasure and acute embarrassment. She had never minded being called a spinster:
there was something solid and rational about the word, and she had made it her
own. But never had she imagined herself as a bride; she still could not,
although it pleased her endlessly that Nathaniel saw her thus.

She
rediscovered what she had first learned from the Schuylers at
Saratoga
: Nathaniel's reputation spread far
over the territory and was larger than she could comprehend. Before they
reached the main market square they had had four invitations to come and stay
and countless invitations to dinner.
Elizabeth
collected shy looks from bachelor farmers, appreciative appraisals from
merchants and calculating glances from their wives and daughters, some of them
directed openly to her waist. What she carried there was not visible to the
world at large, not when she was fully dressed—but they saw what they wanted to
and nodded to each other knowingly.

Total
strangers seemed to know things about her.

"Don't
look so surprised, Boots," Nathaniel had said after an old trapper by the
name of Johanson had inquired after her time in the bush. "This always was
a town with an appetite for gossip, and we gave them enough to talk about in
the spring."

"Richard
gave them enough to talk about," Elizabeth amended. "I shudder to
think what they must have heard of me."

"Well,
now." He frowned. "I expect that your running off to marry me is only
part of your reputation. They'll be thinking of Lingo, too."

She
pulled up short. "What does anyone here know about that?"

Nathaniel
put a hand out to take her elbow and came in closer.

"Elizabeth,"
he said calmly. "News like that has legs. It'll get up and walk itself
across the territory in no time at all. I know, I know you don't like the idea,
but if it's any comfort to you, nobody thinks badly of you. You found a real
good way to make these men take you seriously—haven't you noticed?"

"I
was hoping for respect," she said. "Not fear."

"They
go together, around here."

"What
the women must be saying—"

He
pulled up, and turned her to him. "Did you look at Jane Morgan when I
introduced her just now? Did you see her kerchief under a hat, in this
heat?"

"I
don't understand your point."

"This
looks like a city to you, Boots, but this place has been in the middle of one
war after another since the first Dutchman put up a hut and called it home. You
see that fort over there on the island? That's there for a reason. Jane
survived a scalping. I don't doubt she killed a man or two herself. I know my
mother did. Women living in these parts learned how to handle weapons and they
used them, or they didn't last long."

In
the middle of the crowded street he put an arm around her and his cheek to her
hair. "This ain't London, although it may stink as bad at times. Now will
you stop fretting?"

"I'll
try," she said against his shoulder.

"That'll
do, Boots. I couldn't ask for any more than that."

* * *

Judge
van der Poole had a goiter that rested on his bony neck like a perky second
head, a fact which might have been easier to overlook if he did not have the
habit of stroking it thoughtfully as he read the papers before him. His small
red mouth pursed in thought, he petted and prodded the growth until Elizabeth
had to look away to retain her composure.

He
had received them in his home, most probably at Mr. Bennett's urging,
Elizabeth
thought. It was
certainly more pleasant than the courthouse would have been. The thick walls
and batten—shuttered windows made the house cool and dim; it smelled of smoked
ham and beeswax and freshly pressed linen. The hearth was surrounded by ceramic
tiles in a white and blue pattern that matched exactly the colors of the rugs
on the brightly polished wood plank floors. It was a comfortable house without
pretensions, in spite of the elevated position of the householder.
Elizabeth
found herself
relaxing while Judge van der Poole read through the pile of papers before him at
leisure.

When
he finally spoke, it came as a surprise. "Mr. Bennett, I'm going to talk
to Mrs. Bonner directly, if she will allow me."

"I
think you'll find her very capable of dealing with your questions
directly," Mr. Bennett murmured before
Elizabeth
could voice this sentiment herself.

Judge
van der Poole paused to pat his goiter thoughtfully. "If we understand
correctly, Mrs. Bonner," he began, peering at her from over the rims of
his spectacles. "You are asking the court to dismiss the breach—of—promise
suit brought against you by Dr. Richard Todd."

She
allowed that this was true, and in response he went back to the paperwork,
tilting his head to one side with his mouth tightly pursed.

"Most
unusual, you realize. A very delicate business, this. First the defendant was
not to be found, and now the plaintiff has gone missing. You have the support
of some very prominent citizens, I note, but still, Dr. Todd has his rights. I
think I must ask Mrs. Bonner to tell us her story from the beginning," he
said. "Without her husband in the room. If he doesn't object." It was
not a question.

Elizabeth
felt
Nathaniel's hand on her shoulder, the strong fingers pressing briefly. He spoke
a few low words with Mr. Bennett, and then he left their fate to her.

* * *

There
was a little boy in the next garden, building a fort out of bits of cast—off
wood mortared together with mud and straw. Nathaniel sat down in the shade of
an oak where he could watch him work. The shuttered windows of the van der
Poole parlor were at his back; when the wind was right he could hear only the
rise and fall of voices. She was doing most of the talking, in an easy tone.

It
could go wrong; they knew that. The judge could order them to sell the mountain
to Richard, or he could void both the deed of gift and the land transfer. No
one would be able to lift a finger, not even Philip Schuyler. Richard would
come back to Paradise to find that they had done his work for him: Hidden Wolf
back in Middleton's hands; Richard determined to have it. Nathaniel would be
back where he started, except he wouldn't. He would still have
Elizabeth
for his wife and nothing could
change that.

Sometimes
he tired of it, the whole long battle for one small corner of the forest when
so much had been lost already by the Kahnyen’keháka.

The
little boy's curls twirled around his head in the breeze. He glanced up at
Nathaniel with eyes as green as the flickering leaves, tugged on a curl that
fell over his forehead, and then frowned at his handiwork. With a sigh he got
up and disappeared around a corner to come back with his fists full of
kindling.

Nathaniel
loosened the neck of his shirt another notch and made himself more comfortable
against the broad back of the oak, glad of the breeze and the shade. A rider
passed and hooves struck the cobblestones in a hollow rhythm. In the next
garden the little boy began to hum over his work, tunelessly.
Elizabeth
's voice rose and fell in
counterpoint, as familiar to him now as the sound of his own heartbeat. At odd
moments there was the sound of the
Hudson
,
not a quarter of a mile off, rushing south to the sea.

He
dreamed of Chingachgook on the river, paddling by torchlight. Suspended over
the world as he coasted on the wind, Nathaniel watched the old man sing his
hunting song, calling the deer to him. A buck appeared on the shore as if he
had been waiting for this summons all of his life and swam toward the canoe,
his eyes reflecting red and gold in the torchlight. Chingachgook raised his gun
and his voice broke, a different rhythm now: his own death song. The river
twisted and turned, and Chingachgook disappeared. In his place,
Elizabeth
floated on the
waters of the great river, her arms beating like wings and her hair spread
around her in a halo. Her white body was swollen great with child. The river
turned her like a log, darkening her skin to the color of tarnished copper as
she rolled, changing her shape, uncoiling her hair. Sarah, now. Sarah's face,
and in her lifeless arms, a baby, a too—still baby neither white nor red but
mottled gold and chestnut and a deep earth color, a neck ringed in bruised
greens and blues. Dark hair ruffled like down in the breeze.

Nathaniel
woke with a start, his heart beating in his throat. She was there, kneeling
next to him.

"You
were dreaming." Her face was furrowed with concern. "I've never seen
you sleep in the day like this."

He
put his hands on her, wordlessly.

"What
is it?" She caught his hands, held them still. "What is the
matter?"

"Nothing,"
he muttered. "Just a dream."
Just
a dream
. He rubbed a hand over his face. "What happened with van der
Poole?"

Elizabeth
cast
a glance over her shoulder toward Bennett. He studied his shoe buckles, his
hands crossed at the small of his back.

"There
is good news," she began. "He seems to believe that Richard is alive
and that we are not responsible for his absence. But neither will he dismiss
the lawsuit."

"Damn."

She
closed her eyes briefly. "All is not lost. He has set a court date in
September. If Richard does not appear for that, then his claim will be
automatically dismissed."

"It
is a formality, I think," said Bennett. "He is well disposed toward
you or he would not have asked us to join him for dinner. It is a good
sign."

"
Elizabeth
doesn't seem to
think so, not by the look on her face." Nathaniel rose, and helped her to
her feet.

"I
am not sure one way or the other," she said. "I suppose it will
depend on the dinner conversation."

"Your
condition is enough cause for us to stay away, if you don't care to go,"
Nathaniel said.

Mr.
Bennett looked between them. "What is this? Good tidings?" He cleared
his throat. "Well, then, Mrs. Bonner. You should certainly stay away if it
will distress you, given your hopeful expectations."

She
managed a thin smile. "Do you think that we can really risk the judge's
goodwill?"

When
Mr. Bennett did not immediately respond, she nodded. "Your silence speaks
quite loudly. Well, I will cope. But first I need to go to the shops."

"You
require a dress for this evening," Mr. Bennett guessed.

"I
require spectacles," said Elizabeth. "And a supply of new
quills."

* * *

Because
they did not have any other molds, Runs-from-Bears had melted down about twenty
pounds of the Tory Gold in a makeshift forge and cast a fortune in bullets.
These Nathaniel had been carrying in double—sewn leather pouches next to his
skin since they left
Paradise
, ten pounds on
each side. In
Johnstown
this unusual currency
would have caused a stir, but
Albany
was a town built on some two hundred years of high intrigue and trading
shenanigans. Comfortable Dutch and British merchants had made large fortunes
running illegal furs from
Canada
,
reselling silver spoons stolen in Indian raids on
New
England
families much like their own, and bartering second—grade
wampum and watered rum for all the ginseng root the native women could dig up,
which they then traded to the Orient at an outrageous profit. A sack of golden
bullets would raise nothing more in an
Albany
merchant than his blood pressure.